Chapter 26
MARY
The Veterinarian, the Vengeful Sheep, and the Lie That Hurts
(Or How to Lose Everything in a Single Conversation)
“Nothing serious, but he won’t be able to compete today,” I say while gently palpating the chestnut horse’s front left leg.
Jamie straightens beside me and nods. He was already here when I arrived, bent over this horse with a suspicious limp.
“That’s what I thought too.”
It’s six-thirty in the morning, and I’m already at the paddocks, soaked with dew and nursing the faint headache reminding me I may have had slightly too much whisky during last night’s festivities.
The Highlands are breathtaking at this hour, wrapped in pale mist slowly dissolving into the morning light. In the distance, I can already hear preparations for the Games beginning: voices, laughter, the clang of metal against metal.
The cottage was empty when I left earlier.
Finn had already gone. He’s probably been at the medical station since dawn.
Or maybe he’s avoiding me.
The thought twists painfully in my stomach in a way I absolutely refuse to analyze.
We work in silence for a while, applying a support bandage and checking the swelling. The gelding is beautiful, nervous but calm beneath my hands.
Working with Jamie is easy.
It always has been.
We grew up together, learned together, dreamed together about becoming veterinarians.
And then he left.
“Remember when we used to say we’d work together someday?” he asks suddenly, like he’s reading my thoughts.
I laugh as I stand and brush my hands against my jeans.
“We were kids, Jamie.”
“Yeah. Kids.”
There’s something melancholy in his voice that makes me look up at him.
He’s watching me with an intensity I barely recognize.
Or maybe one I simply haven’t seen in a long time.
My chest tightens slightly.
“Jamie…”
“You’re never going to see me as anything except a childhood friend, are you?”
The question lands between us like a stone dropped into a still loch, ripples spreading in every direction.
I freeze.
Mouth slightly open.
Unable to answer.
What exactly is he saying?
“Jamie, what are you—”
But I never get to finish.
A thunderous bleat rips through the morning air, immediately followed by another equally authoritative one.
I whirl around just in time to see Hamish and Ragnar charging toward the paddocks at full speed side by side in terrifying synchronization.
“No, no, no!” I shout.
Too late.
Hamish slams into the first fence hard enough to splinter wood.
Ragnar isn’t far behind, crashing into the neighboring barrier with enough force to send it collapsing in a spectacular disaster.
The horses panic instantly.
Neighing erupts everywhere.
Chaos detonates.
“Shit!” Jamie curses.
We both sprint toward the animals as they begin scattering in every direction. A Shetland pony bolts through the opening at full speed, followed by two larger horses. Sheep burst from a nearby enclosure, adding even more confusion to the disaster.
Hamish bleats triumphantly in the middle of the destruction, proudly admiring his work.
Meanwhile Ragnar stands beside the stable looking perfectly innocent, like he had absolutely nothing to do with any of this.
“I’ll get the horses over there!” Jamie shouts, already running.
“I’ll take the ones heading toward the castle!”
I sprint after a bay gelding galloping joyfully toward the Games tents, knocking over an innocent scone stand along the way.
The next two hours become a logistical nightmare.
With help from Cameron, Connor, Ewan, and half a dozen volunteers, we eventually recover every escaped animal. The fences are repaired as best they can be.
Hamish disappears, naturally.
Ragnar is now lounging near the medical station looking deeply confused about why everyone is so upset.
I’m covered in mud, my hair has escaped all attempts at control, and I probably smell like horses and sweat.
Utterly glamorous.
Jamie approaches me, breathless but smiling.
“Just like old times, huh? You and me fixing Hamish’s disasters.”
I can’t help laughing.
“Except now we’re responsible for the chaos instead of just watching it.”
“Questionable progress.”
A comfortable silence settles between us.
“I’m gonna do one last check on the paddocks,” he says eventually.
Then he walks off toward the enclosures.
I remain there alone in the aftermath of the morning’s catastrophe, trying to process what just happened.
You’re never going to see me as anything except a childhood friend, are you?
Was Jamie… in love with me?
Is that why he left?
Is that what all the twins’ weird comments were about?
My heart races too fast.
My thoughts spin endlessly.
And worst of all, one question keeps haunting me:
Did Finn think there was something between Jamie and me?
Did he misunderstand?
Is that why he’s avoiding me?
The day rushes past in a blur.
I don’t have time to look for Finn because veterinary emergencies keep piling up. A dog got into a fight. A sheep—not Hamish, for once—got its leg trapped in a fence. One horse starts showing signs of mild colic.
I don’t stop.
I barely eat.
I barely drink water.
And every single time I glance toward the medical station in the distance, I search for a familiar silhouette that never appears.
Evening finally settles over the Highland Games.
The day’s competitions are over. People gather around the bonfire laughing, drinking, bragging about their victories.
I’m exhausted.
But I need to talk to Finn.
We haven’t been alone together since…
Our kiss.
My heart stumbles, warmth flooding my chest at the memory.
I cross the Games grounds, weaving around groups of laughing people until I reach the medical station.
The tent glows softly from inside.
I can see Finn’s shadow moving around, probably putting away supplies.
I stop outside the entrance, inhale deeply, and step inside.
Finn is there with his back to me, bent over a crate of medical equipment.
He doesn’t turn around, but his shoulders tense almost imperceptibly.
“Can we talk?” I ask, trying to keep my voice neutral.
Silence stretches between us.
Long.
Uncomfortable.
“About what?” he replies finally without turning around.
“About us. I feel like you’re avoiding me.”
He places a stethoscope into his medical bag with movements that are too precise.
Too controlled.
“I’m not avoiding you. I’ve been busy.”
“Finn, you haven’t even spoken to me in two days.”
“I was tired.”
“And this morning? And all afternoon?”
He finally turns around, and his expression freezes my blood instantly.
It’s the Finn I met weeks ago.
The one who built walls to keep everyone out.
The one whose armor I thought I’d managed to break through.
“I’ve had a lot of patients, Mary. That’s why I’m here.”
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”
He crosses his arms over his chest in a defensive posture I know far too well now.
“Then what exactly do you mean?”
I take a step toward him.
“I want to know why you’re distant with me. Why you’re avoiding me. Why it feels like something changed between us.”
“There is no us, Mary.”
The words hit me like a physical blow.
“What?”
My voice comes out strangled because my throat suddenly feels too tight to breathe.
He holds my gaze, and his eyes are cold.
Empty.
“There is no us,” he repeats. “There never was. This was just a practical arrangement, remember? A fake relationship to fool your grandmother and help me settle into the village.”
Pain tightens violently in my chest.
“We were clear about that from the beginning,” he continues in a detached voice.
“And the kiss?” I finally manage, my voice trembling. “Was that just… practical too?”
Something flickers in his eyes.
A crack in the armor.
But it seals shut immediately.
“That was a mistake. I shouldn’t have done that. I apologize for the lapse in judgment.”
A lapse in judgment.
The words echo through my skull and drive straight into my heart.
“You regret it.”
It isn’t a question.
It’s a realization.
He looks away.
Fixes his attention somewhere behind me.
His silence is deafening.
Outside the tent, I can still hear laughter, music, celebration.
All that happiness crashing violently against the pain swallowing me whole.
I should leave.
I should turn around and walk out of this tent with whatever dignity I still have left.
But I stay there like an idiot, staring at him, trying to understand how we went from whispered confessions and stolen kisses to this.
“It’s because of Jamie, isn’t it?” I ask finally, my voice breaking.
Finn flinches slightly but says nothing.
“You thought that—”
“I didn’t think anything. You can see whoever you want. It’s none of my business,” he cuts in sharply. “Our arrangement didn’t include an exclusivity clause.”
His coldness slices straight through me.
“Finn…”
“I think we’ve said everything we need to say, Mary. The Games will be over soon. After that, we can end this arrangement exactly like we planned.”
Like everything between us was nothing more than a business contract finally reaching its expiration date.
Like our late-night conversations, lingering glances, shared silences, and that kiss that made me forget my own name never mattered at all.
I nod slowly.
“Okay,” I whisper once I’m sure my voice won’t shatter completely. “We’ll do it exactly like we planned.”
I turn and walk toward the tent entrance.
My hand touches the canvas flap when his voice stops me again.
“Mary.”
I freeze but don’t turn around.
I can’t look at him again.
Not if I want to keep myself together.
“It’s better this way,” he says softly. “For both of us.”
A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it.
“You’re lying, Finn. To me or to yourself, I honestly don’t know anymore.”
And before he can answer, I walk out.
I move quickly without any real destination, just away from the tent, away from him, away from the pain threatening to suffocate me.
I cross the Games grounds, skirt around the bonfire, avoid groups of laughing people singing and celebrating.
Their happiness feels like it belongs to another universe entirely.
Eventually I collapse onto a low stone wall hidden in the darkness away from curious eyes.
I rest my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my hands.
I don’t cry.
I’m too angry to cry.
Angry at him for being a coward.
Angry at myself for believing any of it was real.
Angry at this stupid arrangement that ruined everything even though I’m the one who suggested it in the first place.
A soft bleat draws my attention.
I lift my head.
Ragnar stands a few feet away watching me with what looks disturbingly close to compassion.
“I’m not in the mood,” I mutter.
The sheep slowly approaches and presses his head gently against my leg.
It’s the first time he’s ever touched me voluntarily without trying to ram me into the ground.
And somehow, that unexpected gesture of affection from the most stubborn animal I’ve ever met finally breaks me.
The tears come silently.
Hot.
Endless.
I cry for what I lost before I even realized I had it.
I cry for the fake relationship that became far too real for me.
I cry for the man who refuses to lower his guard even while his heart is screaming at him to do exactly that.
Ragnar stays there beside me.
Quiet.
Steady.
Loyal.
And I remain sitting on that stone wall beneath the star-filled Highland sky wondering how to fix something that just shattered completely.
Or whether it’s even worth trying anymore.